


Peng

by SweetAvidyaJones



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAvidyaJones/pseuds/SweetAvidyaJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was so intruiged by Amon and the Equalist movement when they were first introduced. I really wanted some more perspectives on the whole thing so I wrote this fic as sort of a thought experiment and then I liked how it came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peng

It was the soldiers who taught it to him.

Peng remembered it so clearly.  It was the midsummer festival and he had traveled with his parents to the central city of the colonies, nearly a day’s journey.  The dust kicked up from the dirt roads stained the hems of his pants.  He stood in the square, holding his parents’ hands.  It was the first time he could remember seeing a city with paved streets.  A small unit of soldiers from the United Forces were assembled for a demonstration.  There was a drought and the harvest had been poor; a lot of the young people were watching with intense interest.  

There were soldiers from every nation.  Benders and non-benders marched alongside each other, some carrying weapons, others carrying flags.  The only other firebender Peng knew was old and sleepy and withered.  The firebending soldiers were strong and confident and they sent a volley of flames over the heads of the crowd with a series of punches and kicks.  They sparred each other briefly before taking up swords and retreating to the outer edge of the formation to allow the earthbenders their turn.    

At home two days later, he tried the forms himself in the yard while his parents watched.  They applauded his small bursts of flame.  They were not nearly as impressive as anything they had seen at the festival, but for Peng it was an extravagant display.  He told them farming was not for him, that he wanted to be a soldier some day.  His mother smiled and his father said he knew Peng would make them proud.  He was eight years old.

That night he couldn’t sleep.  He lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining what it would be like to be a United Forces soldier.  His parents had promised him for as long as he could remember that some day they would get him proper, formal training.  He had received some basic instruction from Xao, the elderly firebender down the road, but he was unhealthy and tired easily and couldn’t spend too much time with him.  The rest of his neighbors were non benders, farmers like his parents.  There were rumors that the United Forces planned to break ground for a small outpost about five miles away but no one seemed to know when, exactly.  The idea of having soldiers so nearby - soldiers who would possibly be willing to train him - was so exciting that he couldn’t stay in bed any longer.  

He crept down the stairs and through the kitchen, where herbs hung drying from the ceiling.  The night sky was bright with stars and moonlight, the air warm and still.      

xXXx

Peng looked up into the passive, emotionless mask, into the cool blue eyes behind it.  Amon stared down at him, unblinking.  Peng pressed his lips together as sweat trickled down his chest under his shirt.  His knees were chafing against the wood floor and he tried to ignore it.  His stomach churned. He wasn’t sure what would come out if he opened his mouth: bile or flames.  Fear and adrenaline snaked through him and he could feel the impulse to bend, to burn his bonds if he could and run.  It was like the fire was a living entity crouched inside of him, waiting to strike.  As if it knew why he had come here.

“You’re a firebender,” Amon said.  He sounded almost bored.

“Yes,” Peng answered, his voice tight.

“You’ve heard my story,” Amon continued.  It wasn’t a question.  Peng closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and opened them again.

“Yes,” he repeated.

Amon folded his arms behind his back, waiting.  Peng swallowed, his heart pounding.

“I need your help,” he finally managed.  His mouth was dry.  When Amon didn’t respond he looked away, embarassed.  He felt pathetic and exposed.  A tremor shook him and he clenched his hands into fists, clenched his jaw to keep his chin from trembling.  When he looked up again he found Amon had turned away from him and was facing the window.  His moustached lieutenant watched Peng intently, gripping one of his electrified batons, glaring in suspicion.  Peng followed Amon’s gaze out the window; the statue of Avatar Aang was visible in the distance.  He remembered when the Avatar died, how his parents had lamented the loss.  They said the Avatar respected non-benders like them, that many benders didn’t.  A non-bender represented his nation on the Council before his son had taken over.

He remembered his mother telling him that all people were worthy of respect, that everyone was the same on the inside, that it didn’t matter that he was different.

He realized that Amon was facing him again and was watching him.  Peng had fantasized about a moment like this but he had never dared to imagine the specifics, had never considered that it could actually happen.  Sharp relief was creeping into his vision and he knew this preceeded panic.  He let his gaze slide out of focus, trying to fight it back.  He kept his eyes pointed at Amon’s midsection, at the calm, confident figure before him.  

“I need you to take my bending away,” he said, and his voice was so even and distant that for a moment it sounded like someone else had spoken.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peng saw the lieutenant lower his baton a fraction.  Peng searched inside himself for some speck of calm to sieze onto.  He thought of his shop, of the bonsai he was cultivating in the tiny back room.  And then before he realized it was happening, before he could even hope to prevent it, the vision from his nightmares rolled into his thoughts like a wave, unstoppable and pitiless.  His shop in flames, everything destroyed by fire.  He had no control, had never learned it; his bending remaining stunted and instinctual, nearly useless.  And then he remembered the shell of the house, the way even the ground around it had been hot beneath his bare feet.  Tears welled in his eyes and he squeezed them shut.  

“You killed someone,” Amon said.  This was another statement, edged with interest.  There was no question, no confusion about his presence or his request.  Of all people he knew Amon could understand his misery, but even he couldn’t understand his regret.  Peng nodded and opened his eyes.  The floor and Amon’s feet swam before him.

“It was an accident,” he whispered.  He wasn’t even sure they heard.  He sagged back onto his heels.  Tears dripped from the end of his nose onto the floorboards.  A moment passed in silence and he knew they were waiting, waiting to hear the rest of his confession.  

“My parents were farmers,” he said, his voice gaining strength, “They were good people but they were poor.” He looked up but couldn’t bring himself to meet Amon’s eyes, looking instead at his lieutenant, “I was the first Bender in my family for three generations.” He sniffed quietly and drew himself up, “They couldn’t…they wanted to send me to the capitol for training but…”

“They couldn’t afford to,” the man finished for him.  Peng nodded miserably and the man put his baton away, folding his arms across his chest.

“We lived in the Old Colonies,” Peng explained, “on the outskirts.  Our village was small and the only firebender who lived nearby was old.  They thought…they thought they had more time.”

Silence fell again for a time before Amon addressed his lieutenant.

“Are you hearing this?”

“Yes, Amon,” he replied.  His voice was low but Peng could hear the awe in his tone.  It had a rigidity to it, the sort of satisfied wonderment that could only come with well-worn faith.  

“Non-benders are so marginalized that even when their children are benders it isn’t enough.”  Peng met his eyes again and Amon nodded, “I’ve been expecting someone like you.  What’s your name?”

“Qin Peng.”  His voice was soft, almost apologetic.

“You own the little flower shop in the commercial district,” the lieutenant said.  

Peng didn’t answer.  He felt his cheeks redden and looked down and away, at the dusty floor.  He had done what he could to make a quiet life for himself and being recognized by anyone still set him on edge.  Qin wasn’t his real surname and he was never sure if it was better or worse that he had changed it when he arrived in Republic City.  Instead of worrying about being recognized for what he’d done, he feared being exposed as a fraud.  He could hear voices downstairs and wondered how many people were in this building with them.  

The fire twisted inside him, like a fist knotted around his guts.  His hands were starting to fall asleep and he tried to focus on this minor discomfort, instead.  He rolled his shoulders and felt sweat run down the small of his back.

“You must be very tired,” Amon said.  

This caught him so off guard that Peng thought he might start crying again.  He tightened his fists, his nails biting into his palms.  He drew in a shaking breath, let it out slowly.  The men must have come to some agreement because the lieutenant crossed the room to crouch behind Peng.  His bonds were cut and he brought his hands around to rest palms up on his thighs, flexing his fingers open and closed to restore the circulation in them.

“I can help you.”

Peng’s attention snapped back up to the man standing in front of him, looking down at him.  His breath caught in his throat and he waited because he could tell from his tone that there were conditions on this offer.  

“I can help you,” he repeated, “but I’d like something from you in exchange.”

“I can pay you,” Peng offered, knowing this was not the correct answer.  Amon turned away.

“The Equalist movement is well funded.  We don’t need your money.” Peng was relieved that he didn’t seem insulted, “But I’d like you to share your story.  Your bravery could encourage other benders who feel similarly to join us voluntarily.”

“I…” Peng licked his lips but his mouth was dry.  He looked out the window again at the statue of Avatar Aang.  He thought of his mother and father.  He remembered how the neighbors had come running to the house even though it was obvious it was lost.  In the chaos none of them noticed him slipping away, scrambling down the nearby hill into the dry riverbed that ran through their village.  He’d followed it all night, walking until his bare feet ached.  He had been told how dangerous a dry river could be and prayed for a sudden downpour.  Perhaps a flash flood would fill the cut in the earth and drown him.  Eventually, he fell asleep and later woke with dust in his nostrils.  He was still in his pajamas.      

“I’m not brave,” he finally said.

“Then you’re feigning it well,” Amon replied.

“I feign most things these days,” Peng whispered.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  Disappointment swelled inside him, spilling out into his anger and curdling immediately into bitterness.  "I don’t want to be a revolutionary.  My parents are dead because of my bending.  My hands will never be clean.  I destroyed my family.“ He opened his eyes, "I never want to do that to anyone again.  I just want to live the rest of my life in peace.”  

Amon didn’t respond immediately.  His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.  He turned around.  

“I can take your bending away,” he finally said.  His voice was low. “But it won’t bring you peace.”

Peng let out a frustrated sigh, knowing he was going to be sent away.  He would have to return to his home and continue this exhausting charade for the rest of his life.  

And then Amon walked toward him and just as Peng had accepted he was not going to help him, he realized this was really, finally happening.  He was almost overwhelmed by an animalistic rush of terror but closed his eyes.  He felt one of Amon’s hands at the base of his skull, then his thumb on his forehead.  

There was a sensation inside him, something elongating and stretching, then constricting and vanishing.  A light winking out.  There seemed to be a great, yawning emptiness within him suddenly and he took a deep breath, like surfacing from underwater.  It was like that, like he’d been holding his breath and could finally let his lungs expand fully.  He drew in one gasping breath after another, falling forward onto his hands and knees.  His fingers curled, nails scraping the floorboards.  Everything had been turned upside down and he could find nothing to hold onto.  He had seen other benders in these moments.  They all tried to bend, immediately, and now he could understand why.  He could understand their disbelief, the sense of loss was so total and final.  He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness.    

“Go home,” Amon said.  "We’re done here.“  Peng could hear footsteps as he began to walk past him, out of the room.  

"Why?” Peng managed.

Amon hesitated at the door.

“You remind me of someone,” he said, and without another word, he left.      


End file.
